


Halloween is not for Costumes

by mephistopheles



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Vampires, Vodka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mephistopheles/pseuds/mephistopheles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An 'underage' Chekov decides to go get drunk while the others party it up.  Things happen with too much vodka--some biting, and not the good kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halloween is not for Costumes

**Author's Note:**

> It's a HALLOWEEN DRABBLE.  
> Enjoy.

If it wasn’t for the ship being damaged, he wouldn’t be here. 

If it wasn’t for the crew ditching him, he wouldn’t be here.

If it wasn’t for his damaged conscience, he wouldn’t be here.

But he’s here, sipping on vodka.

He hates the stuff, the clear burn of liquid from a place he’s not quite sure he likes.  It hurts his brain but he doesn’t want to think about how his family has left him.  Anything’s better than that.  He puts his vodka glass down for a moment.  His eyes glance over at people who are too drunk to realize how stupid they’re acting, people who are drowning their sorrows, and people who are just there.  His fingers trace up along the cold glass as he looks around.  His brain feels foggy, much less like the genius level it always operates at.  His green eyes lock on a handsome man in the corner of the bar; his hand withdraws from the glass to steady himself as he walks over to him.

                He feels a piercing cold—sensory images fly through his mind.  He feels a sharp prick against his skin, warm yet freezing blood rush through him, the embrace of a total stranger.  He collapses into the stranger and his eyes fall closed, his body limp and pale as it’s escorted somewhere foreign.

When he wakes up, his alcohol ridden brain refuses to process the events of last night, or more importantly, the evens of now.  He looks around at the dark room he’s in: chocolate sheets surround him, a warm wood lies on the floor, an ornate pattern of bookshelves and paintings accentuate the room.  He inhales deeply but curls up when he feels a sharp pain from around his heart.  As he holds his chest, his heart, he thinks about how he hates vacations. He hates when he’s too young to do something.  And he always is.  A cool rage seeps through him.  He inhales to exhale and looks up with dull green eyes.

He can hear footsteps approaching the room.  He doesn’t question it, any of it, but he turns his head ever so slightly to watch the door open.  The man from last night walks in.  He sits on the bed right next to him.  He can feel a growing attachment to this stranger and malcontent with his space family.  He can look up into the light blue eyes and feel at home.  He turns his head to the side.  The stranger reaches out his hand, and he falls asleep again.

When he wakes up again, it’s dark.  Completely dark, and he is famished.  His muscles hurt as if he had been seriously exercising and the dull echo of last night’s vodka hasn’t left him yet.  He sits up to quickly for his brain to process.  His legs swing around the edge of the bed and his feet touch cool wood.  He moves quickly-- inhumanly, his brain fails to suggest.  Within moments he’s in the kitchen, staring at the stranger.  His sharp eyes look around for anything he could consume.  The stranger walks up to him and he can feel it, he can feel the blood rushing through him.  It doesn’t take to him as strange, his body is ravenous and uncaring.  The stranger’s eyes beckon.  The second he touches him, ideas and suggestions fly through his head.  Only one matters.   Eat.

                Within seconds he’s pulled the stranger down and over the counter, his arms restraining him.  He can feel a need for something that he was shown.  Warm blood rushes down his throat.  He pulls back after several moments and wipes his mouth with his hand.  The stranger demonically smiles at him.

                He runs back to the room and his brain starts to process what has been happening.  His thoughts make him gag and he places his hands on the bed for support.  His head hurts more than his muscles do; the scream of his conscience for more food is enough for him to start to be afraid.  He pulls on his uniform socks and boots.  He cracks the window to the room and looks out at the jump.  He’s on the third floor, but he should be able to make it without killing himself.  He can hear the footsteps approaching.   He jumps.

                It feels akin to flying, but his limbs don’t flail the way he expects them to.  His arms spread out in a perfect T and one leg straightens while the other folds back.  He hits the ground with no pain, no serious impact trauma.  He feels stronger than ever.  He turns and jumps straight onto the first wall and over to the second.  His body goes faster than he knows the strongest man could.  His brain won’t leave him alone, dark thoughts perturb his fragile state.  He runs and jumps away from the house.  He follows the stars he mapped out for the trip.  He finds himself in front of the bar.  He can hear the raucous laughter of his fellow crewmates.  He swallows and runs past the bar and to the base.  The lights are on and illuminate it’s outline in the dark of the night.  He forces himself to calm down.  The guard at the door looks at him.  He lets him in.

                He sighs once he’s inside.  He walks the empty hallways and stands in front of the elevator.  He looks at himself in the mirror.  His green eyes are a richer tone, his face more defined.  He looks more attractive and less cute.  His curls hang less tightly than they originally did.  As the elevator opens, his brain rebukes his thoughts.  He runs a hand through his hair.  It pauses at his mouth.  He knows he has some time alone and he slips his thumb into his mouth.  He feels the bottom of his front teeth.  They are all dull.  None are particularly sharp.  He pulls his thumb out.  The elevator door opens to the crew’s floor.  Everyone is out.  He can feel the silence of no heart beating.  As he walks down the hallway, he smells something delicious.  He stops in front of a room and his heart beats faster and faster.  His brain yells at him not to go any further.  The door is locked but his fingers fly across the panel and the door slides open.

                He inhales the rich scent and feels his mouth involuntarily fall open.  His heart races and his jaw trembles.  He can feel his fingernails digging to the palms of his hands.  His eyes feel blown all the way and his vision is crystal clear.  It’s obvious whose room he’s in.  His brain yells at him, a muffled I told you so, but it’s drowned out by other, more important needs.  He picks up a golden shirt and inhales.  Sharp teeth shake against normal ones.  He rolls onto the bed and curls into the unmade sheets.  He shakes and arches into the scent.  His brain loses itself there and he doesn’t regain his thought process until he hears a loud procession down the hall. 

                His brain runs through the options, but the only one that would work—

                He rolls under the bed as a very, very drunk Captain James Kirk stumbles into the room.  He clamps his hand over his mouth and bites down carefully.  He can hear him strip down to his boxers and feels the bed creak above him.  He lays there, paralyzed, for a good twenty minutes.  He can feel the drop in heart rate and the slowed breathing.  But the scent and the feel of his heart beat are just so intoxicating that after he works his way out from under the bed, he leans over to run his fingertips across his Captain’s smooth skin.  Kirk twitches and rolls toward his touch, but he races out of the room before he shows any sign of wakefulness. 

                He darts across the hallway and into his room.  He locks the door to his room and falls back against it.  Wild thoughts fly through his head, things that he didn’t even know he knew.  He can’t vanquish the feral predator that roars for fresh blood.  His heart races and his fangs become sharper, more defined, as he pictures things—things that should make his brain scream in protest.  The visions are strong enough that he’s in them actively; he lies down on the bed and arches up while frenzied moans and the sound of teeth clamping down on nothing fill the room.  He can feel the bed bend underneath him as he writhes to an imaginary vision.  He gasps, short breaths relying on others to give him enough oxygen.  His legs curl up, toes dragging the sheets up.  He shakes and rips the fabric beneath him, his fingers through the holes.  He clamps a hand over his mouth as he gets louder and louder and louder until

                It’s all gone.  When he opens his eyes, it’s light out.  He hasn’t slept.  The room around him is chaotic, ripped sheets and broken items are scattered across the room.  He rushes to pick everything up and throws it into the laundry basket, hoping no one will notice the clean sterility of the room.  He glances at the clock to see it’s only a mere quarter ‘til five and sits down among the things he had brought with him.  If it weren’t for the fact that they were setting off in a couple of hours, he would be much more terrified.  What with that thing, that stranger from another world, how could anyone feel safe?

                How could anyone feel  safe with him now?

                He groans into the palm of his hand.  There has to be a solution for whatever happened last night.  He couldn’t stay on the Enterprise if there wasn’t and there was no way that as a runaway, he would return home.  He thinks on the matter: what does he need?  He needs blood, for one thing.  He also needs to stay as far away from the captain as possible.  For the second, he could hang out in Engineering every time that he wasn’t required on the bridge, but when he was…

                He would just have to tough it out.  There was no solution besides that.  For the blood, he could always siphon some from Doctor McCoy’s blood bank.  A small amount, not so much that anyone would notice.  Hacking into the med bay is easy, so that shouldn’t be a problem.  All he’d have to do was hack into the feed and create a loop while he took the blood from storage. 

                But this unnatural _attraction_ to the captain…

                That would be a problem.

                 The desire to attack could not overcome him.

                There was no way he would let himself stay on the ship like that.

 

\--back on the Enterprise, two days later—

                His plan had worked so far.  He had been able to steal blood from the medical bay without any problem.  He had hung around Scotty whenever he could, trying to escape the oppressive allure of his captain.  It was hard, but so far the captain had not noticed.  Scotty seemed to enjoy the company, but Doctor McCoy had not liked to see him in more frequently due to minor burns and cuts.  It wasn’t his fault that engineering was dangerous.  (And fun, of course it was fun.)

                The dreams though, they would not leave.  There were bad ones of that stranger, ones of the captain, and ones of things that had happened years ago.  The last ones confused him the most.  They were not his memories.  He wasn’t a composer, or a bookkeeper in a small office.  He didn’t love a scientist back in England, nor did he write about the greater meaning from his view as a worker in Portugal.  However, the most confusing was where he was some form of spirit bound to a human.

                His hand subconsciously traced the cold rim around the window.  Space was especially dark tonight.  His eyes flickered back and forth in front of all the stars, naming each one of them.  Judging by their position, it had to be around three in the morning.  He was so intently focused that by the time his nose flared, there was no room to escape.  He inhaled a rich scent and could feel the heartbeat across the room.  _It’s the captain._  

                “Chekov, what are you doing awake?”

                “Uh, zir, I couldn’t sleep.  I vill go back to my quarters now.”

                “Oh, it’s no problem.  I don’t mind the company.”

                His brain raced at millions of miles an hour for an escape.

                “And Chekov, it’s nice to spend some time with you.  It always seems that you are in engineering nowadays.”

                “Vell, it is very fun.  Mister Scott needs ze reprieve.”

                He could feel his teeth sharpen.

                “But we need you on the bridge from time to time.  Sulu isn’t as fun as you and well, you kinda brighten up the bridge.”

                “Zank you, but do you mind if I go back to my quarters?”

                “Just one question.”

                “Alright.”

                “Have I done something wrong?  You seem to be avoiding me especially.  I know it’s not the others, you talk with Spock and Sulu and Uhura at breaks.  So why not me?”

                “Zat was two questions.”

                “Are you?”

                “I—I cannot explain.  I am zorry.”

                “Is it me?”  He stepped closer, so they were inches apart.

                “It is me.  Not…you.”

                His body trembled a bit and his hands were in fists.  The captain held one of them up and looked him right in the eyes, those beautiful blue eyes.  He looked so concerned.

                “Please, please get avay from me, Keptin.”

                He looked confused and did not move.

                “Please.  Now.”

                “Are you okay?”  The captain’s dogged concern was showing.

                “Keptin.  Please leave.”  He shook from restraint, his teeth fully extended.

                “Chekov, it’s alright.  I don’t care—“ He was pulled into an embrace.

                Sharp teeth slid out and he pushed his captain against the wall.  He bit down hard, his hands holding wrists back and his legs closing strong muscle.  His green eyes were blown, but so were the captain’s, a rim of blue around a dark black.  He pulled back when he heard breathy moans come from the beautiful body beneath him.

                He licked his lips, the taste of that blood was unique.  It was rich and…

                Not delicious—this was the captain and he had just…

                


End file.
